Chapter 10

  “Why aren’t you furious with me?” Skorval asked. They were two days into the final stretch of their journey, the weight of the silence finally becoming too much to bear.

  “I know why you did it,” Tivric said, his voice level. “And honestly… I think I already knew.” He glanced at the vast, open sky ahead. “You told me you knew the undead were coming because of ‘scouting’—but we haven't scouted a perimeter in at least ten Latchruns. We already know the direction they crawl from every time.”

  Tivric kept his pace steady. “I’ve seen you with that artifact, Skor. I’ve caught you messing with it three times now. But you’re not a bad rat. You’ve saved my life at least ten times—I wouldn’t have made it to Brimlow, let alone killed that revenant, without you at my back.”

  He nudged his mount forward, pulling ahead to claim a moment of solitude.

  “Now leave me be,” Tivric called over his shoulder, his voice carrying in the open air. “Let me enjoy the topside while I’m still here to see it.”

  Vaeyra guided her mount alongside Skorval’s. “He thinks very highly of you,” she said, her voice a low murmur.

  Skorval nodded, his posture slumped with a lingering, heavy gloom—almost as if he wished Tivric had shouted at him instead. A lecture he could handle; this grace was harder to swallow.

  “You helped too, Vaeyra,” Skorval said, looking over at her. “Why did you step in? You could have died back there. We all could have.”

  Vaeyra hummed, a thoughtful sound that seemed to vibrate with secret history. “Watching the two of you fight,” she said at last. “The way you threw yourself onto that revenant’s back without a second thought… and the way Tivric neutralized that warden in the blink of an eye.” She flashed a faint, distant smile. “It reminded me of my old swordmaster, Rennik.”

  “You are both remarkably capable fighters,” Vaeyra said.

  Skorval exhaled, a weary sound. “There are two kinds of latchrunners in our burrow,” he explained. “Ceiling crew and ground crew. We used to be ground—the both of us. But we had a habit of staying too long in a scrap, refusing to retreat when the odds turned. Eventually, the commanders moved us to ceiling duty. It gives us a longer window to run when we overstay our welcome.”

  He hesitated, then cast a sideways glance at her. “Back there, with your hair and the sword... what exactly was that?”

  “Light Binding,” Vaeyra said, her voice steady.

  “We don’t see many magic-users in the Burrows,” Skorval countered, a note of wariness creeping into his tone. “How does someone even go about learning something like that?”

  Vaeyra offered a small, knowing smile. “You know how anyone can pick up a sword and, with enough time, learn to use it?”

  Skorval nodded.

  She leaned in slightly as their mounts moved in rhythm. “Think of it the same way. You might never have the knack for a spear, but with the right training, you can master anything. Magic is no different. Given the right materials, a patient teacher, and enough time, anyone can learn a school of magic. It’s a craft, Skorval—not a miracle.”

  "While other cultures have their own names for it, the Dawnborn call it luminurgy. As a people, we possess a natural disposition for the craft, making it the magic you will encounter most often among our kind. However, do not mistake raw talent for mastery; our true strength lies not in our blood, but in our history of rigorous study and the sheer number of masters within the School of Light."

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  She lifted a hand, and as she spoke, a faint, ghostly shimmer caught in her hair once more.

  “Why does why your hair starts glowing,” Skorval said flatly.

  “One of the primary weaknesses of lumen magic is containment and by nature of light it is often telling,” she explained. “Novices can’t keep the energy localized in the blade. The excess light has to escape somewhere, and it usually bleeds out through the hair or eyes. It’s actually quite a liability—if an enemy sees you channeling, they know exactly when you’re about to strike.”

  This exchange is great because it reveals Vaeyra’s confidence—she’s using a "weakness" as a psychological weapon. It also sets up a fun "what if" for the two soldiers.

  “So, you haven't learned to hide it yet,” Skorval noted.

  “Oh no, I can hide it,” Vaeyra replied, her smirk widening. “I just choose not to. It’s intimidating, don't you think?”

  Skorval let out a genuine laugh, and Vaeyra joined him, the tension between them finally evaporating.

  “And the glowing blade?” he asked, nodding toward her hip.

  “I wrap Selenars light tightly around the steel,” she explained. “It shears through armor—even stone—as if it were parchment. But it’s exhausting to maintain. I save it for when things get truly dire.”

  Skorval’s ears twitched, a spark of curiosity lighting up his face. “So… if anyone can learn magic… could a couple of rats like Tiv and me learn that too?”

  Vaeyra smiled, her eyes distant for a moment. “With the right teacher? Absolutely.”

  They rode for the rest of the day, making camp well off the road as the Selenar’s glow faded. They were far enough from the burrows now that the Grimtails no longer needed to hide, but habit was a stubborn thing. Even so, the evening passed with a rare ease; the three of them stayed up late, their laughter and voices drifting up into the open sky.

  “Alright, alright—one last question about… lumin-gurgy,” Skorval said, tripping slightly over the word.

  “You can just call it Lightbinding if it’s easier,” Vaeyra replied with a smirk.

  “You said a good teacher is essential,” Skorval continued. “But what about the very first person to use it? Who taught them?”

  Vaeyra leaned back, her eyes drifting toward the stars.

  “It began after the Fracturing, some eight hundred years ago,” she said. “Selenar stopped its rotation and began to flicker—a stuttering pulse that split Auraleth in two. On one side, the Living Face, bathed in constant radiance… and on the other, the Still Shadow, a world that never see see Selenar’s light again.”

  She paused, the campfire reflecting in her eyes.

  “The story goes that a Dawnborn scholar, obsessed with his lineage, spent his days staring directly into Selenar. He watched it blink out and return, over and over, until he eventually learned how to catch and bend the light himself.”

  Skorval leaned forward, unimpressed. “That’s it? He just stared at it?”

  Vaeyra nodded solemnly. “They say he was the first to unlock the craft.” She waited a beat, her expression turning wry. “But he also went blind in the process.”

  “Whoa,” Skorval and Tivric breathed in unison.

  “What about that strong Grimtail—Rennik?” Skorval asked, his excitement suddenly spiking. “Could he Lightbind? Can we meet him?”

  Tivric recognized the shift immediately. He opened his mouth to steer the conversation toward safer waters, but Vaeyra was already speaking. Her face tightened, though her voice remained unnervingly steady.

  “Unfortunately, no,” she said. “He passed away during a training accident with a student.”

  She paused, the flickering campfire casting deep shadows across her features.

  “We train with live steel,” Vaeyra continued. “We have to. On Auraleth, hesitation is a death sentence, so we practice as if every bout is a final stand. The student was fighting at full strength, but Rennik was faster—he always was. He was blocking every strike with ease. Then, in one routine exchange, he raised his blade to guard... and the steel simply gave way.”

  Her gaze dropped to the embers.

  “The student’s strike was perfect. It passed straight through what should have been a solid defense and took Rennik full in the chest. They had practiced that exact drill a thousand times.” She exhaled a long, quiet breath. “He was gone before the healers could even reach the grounds.”